


Roses are Red

by stopcallingmeapollo (GayMarauders)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Enjolras, Unbeta'd, Valentine's Day Fluff, i'm back bay-beee, mentioned transphobia, unapologetic cheese
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GayMarauders/pseuds/stopcallingmeapollo
Summary: Enjolras always hated Valentine's day, until he starts receiving yearly gifts from a secret admirer.





	Roses are Red

Enjolras isn’t sure what he expected.

It’s Friday, February 12th, and since Valentine’s Day falls on a Sunday this year, the group voted to hold an early celebration during this week’s meeting. He had assumed this would mean cupcakes, and maybe some streamers. He was wrong.

Or rather, he was right...almost. He had underestimated the combined power of Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly, and Bossuet as Unofficial Party Committee. The table the club members usually sit at is covered in several mismatched pink and red table cloths. The usual political event posters are covered up with images of cuddling animals, and neon pink streamers were strung across the room haphazardly. But the piece de resistance is a massive cardboard cutout of a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, with several electric candles (per university code) attached to it. Enjolras enters behind Bahorel just as the six-foot man smacks into the cardboard creation face-first.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just a little...love-struck,” he replies with a grin. Enjolras rolls his eyes, slipping past him to take in the room. Courf stands by the head of the table, plastic champagne flute of punch in hand. The look on his face tells Enjolras that he knows what’s coming.

“Hey, buddy…”

“It was supposed to be a  _ little  _ party, Courf.”

“This is little! We’re under-budget!”

“The whole room is...Valentine-y. Is that a pinata? Courf, are we even going to have time for the actual meeting?”

“We agreed to have a fun, relaxing party after the start of the new semester! And besides, we really only needed to get people signed up for the queer youth food drive. I put the sign-up sheet by the cupcakes and told everyone they can have a one for every shift they take.” Courf claps Enjolras on the shoulder. “I think you could use a little relaxation as much as any of us. Here,” he fills him a glass of punch. “Try to breath a couple times today, yeah?”

“...ok.” Enjolras takes the glass, stepping away to find the people he hasn’t had a chance to catch up with since the break. 

“Is he ok?” Courf jumps at the unexpected sound of Grantaire’s voice, inches from his ear. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s ok! I’m glad you could make it, I thought you had a class during meetings this semester?”

“I do.”

“Really striving to reach that fifth year of undergrad, huh?”

“Shut up. What’s wrong with our fearless leader?”

“Oh, he’s just stressed. You know how he is.” 

Grantaire frowns, watching Enjolras sway uncomfortably to the sound of Ed Sheeran’s latest single. “I do. He’s always stressed, but he’s not usually so...snippy? Uptight? I dunno.”

“Ah.” Courf glances around, then leans in conspiratorially. “Listen, don’t like...spread this around, or anything. But our senior year of high school, right after Enj came out…He had a crush on this guy at our school. Tall, dark, handsome, very confident gay guy. He was in the gay club there. And Enj wasn’t exactly good at hiding his feelings. I don’t think he’d ever really had a crush before, honestly.” He stops, as if considering how to continue.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you know how teenaged boys can be. They’re not...the  _ nicest _ . But uh. Especially not this guy. He didn’t really like the idea of a trans guy being interested in him.”

“Ah, so the great Apollo got rejected? What does that have to do with him not liking club parties?”

“He didn’t just get rejected. The guy waited til Valentine’s Day, then asked him out. As a joke. Total humiliation in front of the entire school.”

“Oh, shit.” Grantaire’s face falls.

“Yeah.”

“That’s... _ shit _ . Wow.”

“He refused to do  _ anything  _ for Valentine’s Day last year, even with his friends. I figured he’d probably gotten over it by now, but I guess not. I probably should’ve toned down the decorations and stuff, on second thought.” 

“Hey, it’s not your fault. Maybe some exposure therapy will help. He probably just needs a good Valentine’s to even it all out.”

“I don’t know...it’ll take something pretty fucking great to make up for that. I doubt the college counseling service is equipped to help him with that kind of trauma.” Courf refills his punch glass, then turns to leave. “I promised Baz I’d play uke while he serenades Feuilly, I should probably go do that. Don’t tell Enj I mentioned this, ok?”

“Yeah of course. Break a leg.”

Grantaire spends the rest of the night watching Enjolras from across the room, his expression unreadable. They make eye contact once, and he raises his glass in acknowledgment; Enjolras gives him a nod in return. As the festivities come to an end, Grantaire finds himself staying later than usual to tear down the decorations--something Enjolras seems to be taking perverse pleasure in doing. 

“Thanks for staying after.” Enjolras is out of breath; they’ve cleaned up in record time.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“The problem with a club full of couples is that everyone wants to decorate for Valentine’s Day, but no one wants to stay after to clean up because they all have dates.” He brushes a sweaty golden lock out of his face.  _ Beautiful. _

“Stupid holiday anyway. Capitalism monetizing our affection or...whatever.”

“Yeah!” Grantaire is startled at the enthusiasm Enjolras is showing, but decides to roll with it. “Like...who needs a bunch of overpriced chocolates anyway?”

“Yeah. Fuck the Man, fuck chocolate.”

“You’re mocking me.” Enjolras puts his hands on his hips, raising and eyebrow at Grantaire.

“I’m really not.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks again. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“I should probably get going, Courf and Ferre won’t be home for a while and someone has to feed the cat.”

“Right. Tell her I said hi.”

“She hates you.”

“She’ll come around eventually.” 

“...sure.” Enjolras stares up at Grantaire for another moment, then grabs his backpack and leaves. Grantaire pulls out his phone, opening his map and searching for grocery stores open late, then heads out the door as well.

* * *

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_ BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. _

_ BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP-- _

Enjolras groans, slapping at his phone until the alarm ceases. He rolls out of bed, stumbling blearily into the kitchen and crashing about until he has a glass of protein shake in hand. Blinking, he takes in the room. Courf’s coat is hanging off a stool, and a box of leftovers from a trendy downtown cafe sits forgotten on the counter. No doubt he is the first one awake on this fine Sunday morning, since his roommates--only recently (finally) romantically involved--opted to make the entire weekend a Valentine’s extravaganza. As he turns back to his room, a flash of red catches his eye.

Upon closer inspection, the shiny red item is a small rectangular package, neatly wrapped, with a piece of notebook paper taped to it. Enjolras gently removes the paper, opening it and frowning at the messy scrawl.

_ Roses are red _

_ Your jacket is too _

_ I saw these chocolates _

_ And thought of you _

“What?” His frown deepens. The only person in the apartment with a red jacket is him. Turning over the paper reveals no additional clues, so he turns his attention to the package.

Inside are several chocolate bars, as the note suggested. Each is labeled “fair trade,” with a sticky note attached that explains the chocolate’s origin in the same almost-indecipherable handwriting as the poem.

“Good morning! You found your package!” Combeferre’s deep morning tones ring out through the space.

“Yes! Thank you.”

“Thank me?” Combeferre looks confused.

“Yes, didn’t you and Courf leave these for me?”

“No, it was outside the door when we got home around two. Does the note not say who they’re from?”

“It just has a...very  _ simple  _ poem...and the chocolates.”

“Strange.” Combeferre turns over one of the bars, inspecting. “The packaging seems to be intact, no reason not to eat it.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras pauses, thinking. “You didn’t see who left them?”

“No. It seems you have a secret admirer.”

Enjolras hums thoughtfully. “Well. Happy Valentine’s day, apparently.”

“Happy Valentine’s day!”

Combeferre turns on the stove and pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge as Enjolras breaks a piece off of one of the bars, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. 

As Enjolras enjoys his gift, a mile away in a rather messier apartment, a hungover art student wakes to the sound of his roommate tripping over a roll of red wrapping paper that was  _ not supposed to be in the middle of the living room, R! _

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun little project to get me back into fic writing after a year hiatus. I wrote it for myself, but I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!


End file.
